Priorities
by DreamShadows
Summary: On a routine hunt gone bad, John and Dean learn what's really important. Limp!Sam. R&R. Winner of Best Story and Childhood Trauma catagories on Sensue . net
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys!!! I have definite writer's block on my other story, 'Twisted Night,' even though it's the second time I've written it... I found that I didn't like the way it went the first time, and maybe it was the computer's way of telling me that it sucked, when it ate the chapters.

So I wrote a new story!!! (Or rather started one...)

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing... Well except my laptop, a tv, a few pictures and some other odds and ends... (thinks hard) But...!... That's not the point... Kripke and the CW own Supernatural... Though I'm getting kind of mad at the commercial they have for Supernatural... It's a 1967 Chevy Impala, not a "cool 1970's Chevy,' get it right!

Deep breath... End of rant, enjoy the first chapter of 'Priorities'...

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Pain.

Mind numbing, all consuming, breath stealing; pain.

The first thing Sam Winchester became aware of was the spiking pain emanating from his lower left side. It froze him for a second, and then the agony forced a low moan from him.

A low, _strangled_, moan.

The second thing Sam became aware of was the suffocating force being applied to his throat. It made his breathing harsh, making him wheeze pitifully for every gasp of air he pulled in.

The third thing Sam became aware was that he wasn't alone. He could see a middle aged man standing in front of him, gripping his throat almost gleefully. The man's eyes were dull and unseeing, his lips twisted up in a pleased snarl.

Between the force against his throat, and the pain in his side, Sam's vision was narrowing, darkening, with every second. He fought the grip on his neck weakly, but the fingers holding his air hostage were unrelenting.

He tried his hardest to fight the grip, but his hands stopped obeying his commands, and dropped laxly to his sides. He could do nothing but let the monster holding him, squeeze the very life from him.

The pain was muted now, not as pronounced as it had been when he had first swam back into consciousness. It seemed far away, like he could feel it, but it didn't really affect him like it should, and Sam groaned inwardly.

Darkness shaded the edge of his vision, speckled glowing black into his sight. He fought the pull of unconsciousness as long as he could, but the dark was closing in, making it hard to see.

Detached, Sam felt himself fall to the ground as a gunshot rang out. Try as he might though, the youngest Winchester couldn't find the strength to fight off the offending darkness.

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Dialing his brother's number again, Dean ran through the halls of the old house. He had had a bad feeling about this hunt from the beginning, and if the twisting in his stomach told him anything...

_Something's wrong._

The thought screamed at him, and he cursed, telling himself to run faster.

"_Hi, you've reached Sam, I'm not here, so you know what to do."_ The tone beeped after a moment and Dean snarled, snapping the phone shut. "Dammit Sam, you better be alright, or I'm gonna kill you."

Taking another corner, Dean found himself staring at a middle aged man. A middle aged man, _suffocating_, his unresponsive brother. Not giving it another thought, Dean raised his gun, aimed, and shot the man holding his brother in the back.

As soon as the round hit the man, he dissolved into thin air, and Sam dropped. There was no resistance, no catch; he just fell. Before Sam had even hit the ground, Dean was running, praying that something wasn't seriously wrong...

That Sam was okay.

He dropped to his knees, heedless of any discomfort it would cause him, his mind and heart bent on checking his brother. _His Sammy. _

Placing a shaking hand on Sam's neck, he held his breath. The dull throb was thready and weak, but Dean contented himself with just knowing it was there. That Sam was alive.

Alive was good. Hurt was another thing, but Dean would rather have Sam alive and hurt, than dead and unmarked. As long as Sam was alive, there was something that Dean could do to help him, there was nothing he could do about the dead though; and the thought of his eighteen year old brother being dead stole the breath from his chest.

Breaking from his thoughts, Dean sat Sam up against the wall he was slouched against, all the while checking him over. Putting his hands on Sam's shoulders, he ran them over and then up his neck. Placing his thumbs under Sam's jaw, he tilted his brother's head up. Sam was still and unresponsive under his ministrations, and Dean's heart clenched painfully in his chest.

Gently letting go of Sam's head, Dean turned his attention to the ragged gashes in his baby brother's side, grimacing at the raw look of them. Pulling off his denim over shirt, he pressed it against the slashes, trying to stop the bleeding, all the while trying to ignore the vivid bruising starting to form on Sam's neck.

Dean didn't even remember pulling his cell phone from his pocket, but within seconds, he heard his father's gruff, "What is it Dean?"

"Dad, we got a problem." The shakiness of his voice, startled Dean.

"Dean?" The tone held curiosity with an underlining of worry, and Dean drew in a breath.

"Sammy's hurt. Norton got to him when he was searching." He heard the muffled cursing from the other side of the phone and sighed, before forcing himself to pay attention. "He's got four pretty nasty gashes in left side, and the bastard choked him. He's lost a lot of blood dad, we've got to get him out of here."

After a moment, he heard a deep sigh from his father. "Okay, tell me where you are. I don't want you looking after Sam and getting hurt, trying to get him out by yourself."

Dean relayed their position, and hung up after a brief, "Watch your back, and be careful."

Turning his attention back to Sam, Dean murmured a few choice words under his breath, as he found his brother shaking. If it was from blood lose, or the subconscious feeling of pain, Dean didn't know.

All he knew was, he didn't like it.

As he waited for his father, one hand pressing firmly on Sam's side, the other holding a shot-gun at the ready; Dean prayed that his brother would be alright. Almost without thought, Dean listened to his brother's breathing, trying to gauge whether or not his throat was swelling from the strangling.

_Just hold on a little longer Sammy, we'll get you outta here. _Dean hoped it was the truth.

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A/N: So I hope you liked the first chapter of my newest story.

Take care, and let me know what you think,

OSS


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to get this up, but I had it written Monday... I just had a sucky computer that didn't like me... It's not all the computer's fault though... I admit that I forgot about it yesterday, after trying all Tuesday to get it up...

Anyway, I hope you enjoy...

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John Winchester mumbled obscenities to himself as he jogged toward the location Dean had given him over the phone. Worry ate at him, making his chest clench, as he thought about the tone of Dean's voice when he had told him that Sammy had been hurt.

_'He's lost a lot of blood dad; we've got to get him out of here.'_

The voice beat at him, making him quicken his pace in his haste to get to his sons. He needed to get to them, he had to see them, had to make sure that they were safe, that he could get Sam out in time to save his life.

The shakiness had been clear in Dean's voice as he had told John that they had a problem, that Sam had been hurt, and John was woe to try and figure out how serious the injury had been. When it came to Sam and pain, everything was considered serious to Dean, even the smallest of cuts, or a sprain had Dean acting the mother hen to his little brother.

He just hoped that it was one of those times that Dean was overreacting, and that all Sam needed was a bandage and some pain killers. If it wasn't, and something was seriously wrong, John didn't know what he would do. The hospital wasn't an option for them this time, not after the two visits they had made to it in the last month. CWS still had the option of taking Sam away, and John wouldn't be able to live with that.

As he rounded the last corner that separated him from his boys, John drew in a deep breath, knowing that if it were serious enough, one of their fake IDs would have to be used, and Sam would have to go to the ER in the next town over. If they found him there, the father of two didn't know what he would do.

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As Dean waited for his father, he kept a strong, steady pressure on the wounds marring Sam's side, hoping that the bleeding would stop. When the bleeding didn't show any signs of letting up, Dean pressed harder, hoping the added pressure would do the trick.

As Dean pressed his hands harder, Sam moaned and flinched from him. Dean felt hope soar, and looked up into Sam's face, hoping for some sign of waking. He wasn't disappointed as Sam stirred.

"Sam?" Dean asked, trying to rouse his brother from unconsciousness, but not wanting to shake him for fear of hurting him more than he already had been. "Sammy?" He tried again, smiling gently when Sam's eyes creased tightly before fluttering open.

"De-?" The confusion and pain lining the question made the fist gripping Dean's heart clench painfully tighter.

"Shh- Sammy, it's okay, just take it easy, little brother." Sam shifted a little towards his brother's voice, and whimpered a little when pain spiked through his side. "Hey, hey;" Dean soothed, rubbing his free hand methodically up and down his baby brother's arm. "Don't try to move Sammy, Dad's coming, we'll get you outta here."

"Wha'?" His voice was small, and Dean had to strain to hear the question.

"Norton got you Sammy, but you're fine, you're gonna be fine." _I hope._ The thought forced itself into Dean's mind, and he ruthlessly pushed it down.

"DEAN?!" The voice was unmistakable, and Dean smiled, turning to yell back to the man.

"In here Dad!" Dean yelled back, and turned to Sam. His blood ran cold when he saw blood dribble past Sam's lips and down his chin. Sam's eyes rolled in their sockets, not quite unconscious, but mostly so. "Sam?"

"Sammy!" Dean watched as his father appeared at the door, and saw the hitch in his chest when he looked over his youngest.

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John dropped to his knees beside his baby boy, and had to fight to keep the horror from his expression. Sam looked... _mangled_, for lack of a better word. Bruising marred the right side of his face, along with vivid red had prints around his neck which were bound to bruise in their own right.

Most disturbing was the blood that had been soaked into the shirt in Dean's hand, and the puddle of it that lay on the floor. _How could he lose that much blood and still be alive?_

As John looked to his son's face, the line and spattering of blood from the gasping mouth, and the way Sam's eyes rolled... It _scared_ John. His youngest son was in serious trouble, and the closest they could get him help was fifteen minutes away. With the way Sam looked now...

John wasn't sure if his youngest would make it that far.

Not to mention that they still had to get out of the house, and past a seriously pissed off ghost, with Sam in tow. It was like freakin Mission Impossible! Except the fact was that, this was real, and Sam's life was in the balance.

Without a word, John leaned over and dragged Sam's inert form over his shoulder, and stood. He staggered a little from the added weight, his mind wandering to how much Sam had grown, to how he was really _his_ little boy anymore.

Sam would always be his little boy, but it looked (and felt) like his little boy was growing up.

Not wanting to hurt Sam any more than he already was, but knowing that time was of the essence for his life, John jogged toward the front door of the house. He knew without looking, and without hearing the footfalls of Dean's steps, that his son was following behind him.

For once luck seemed to be on their side, and Norton didn't show. There were no interruptions in the run to the car, except for the small moans and whimpers coming from the youngest Winchester, from his place draped over his father's shoulders.

He could feel warm wetness seeping through his jacket and into the shoulder of his tee-shirt, as he jogged down the walkway, headed for the waiting Impala. Dean ran in front of him, pulling open the back door of the classic Chevy, and after a second thought, climbing in to take his brother from his father.

John handed Sammy to Dean, being as careful as he could be with his youngest. He watched as Dean pulled Sam up against his chest, and put pressure on the wounds in his side.

The eldest Winchester jogged around to the driver's side of the car, and slid into the seat. He looked in the rearview mirror and sighed as he started the car.

_Hang on Sammy..._

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A/N: Hope you liked... Let me know either way...

Reviews are the essence that keeps us writer's, (for lack of a better word) writing. (or at least posting)

Take care,  
OSS


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys!! I am so sorry this is taking so long, but I have been sick, and for the past couple weeks have had a raging sinus infection... It finally took me down on Wednesday, and since then, I've only been awake in sporadic bursts, and have only been online maybe half an hour... I've been trying to get this done and out, and again I'm sorry for the wait...

But I'm proud to say my muses have been working overtime, through the sickness, so a chapter got done... As you can see!!!

Anyway, I really appreciate the thoughtful reviews you give... Thanks!!

Enjoy...

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'_Somewhere along the line I stopped being your father, and became your drill sergeant.' -_John, Salvation

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Dean sighed and ran his hand through his hair for what must have been the hundredth time since he and his father had gotten to the hospital. They had been sitting in the waiting room for the past three hours, waiting to hear something, _anything_ about Sam.

The time had worn the usually calm hunter into a worried mass.

Dean had paced the small room for the first hour, before settling himself into a chair, and pretending to read a car magazine for the next hour. Since then he had gone from resting his elbows on his knees, to rubbing his face and carding his hands through his hair, to sighing so often, he father had taken to glaring at him.

The time hadn't been kind to the eldest hunter, anymore than it had been to Dean. The older man had worn his hands raw, as he had rubbed and kneaded them together consistently for the first hour and a half, before he had moved on to grinding his teeth, an action that had set Dean on edge as much as his sighing had set his father on edge.

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Both Winchester men were a sight to behold in the small waiting room. Rural Indiana had never seen men quite like the two hunters, and the rest of the room's occupants had acted accordingly, warily edging around them, and sitting on the other side of the room, leaving enough space between themselves and the edgy men sitting opposite them.

Rebekah Martin had been watching the men since they had first come in, screaming for help while carrying another injured man between them. She had watched them fight the medical personnel trying to pull them away from the other man, as doctors and nurses tried to help him.

She had watched as the fight went out of the younger one's eyes when the injured man had been wheeled out of the room, and he had been restrained from following him. All in all the Winchesters had given her more of a show than she had seen in her twenty years of nursing.

She, like all the other people in the room, was wary of the men, but after having drawn the short straw, she had been the one assigned to them. She had the lovely time of giving them the emergency and insurance forms to fill out, and she had been given the job of telling them any reports she got from the doctors.

As she walked over to them, to tell them that the doctor would be in to speak with them in a moment, her heart clenched, and she had to force herself to keep walking. "Sir?" She asked, trying to sound sure of herself.

The older man's head snapped up so fast she was afraid he might get whiplash. The younger man's; Dean she had heard him called; rose slower, but the intensity in his eyes was palpable. "Yes?" The gruff voice made her shiver, and she looked back to the older man, finding the misery and hope in his dark eyes, enough to melt her.

"The doctor will be in to speak with you soon," she said, proud that her voice stayed steady through the sentence.

"Thanks," again the voice was gruff, but she found herself caught in the small smile that betrayed the tone, seeing that he appreciated her coming to tell him.

"Your welcome," she smiled before turning and walking back to the nurses station, feeling happy at the appreciation the sullen and fierce man had shown her.

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John gave the nurse a small smile and watched as she walked away, grateful to know that he wouldn't have to wait for the doctor and information on his son that much longer. He looked to Dean, afraid of the lack of sound coming from his eldest, and found his lips twisted in a frown, worried lines creased around his lips and eyes, and a hand threaded into his hair.

"Dean," he said softly, and watched as Dean jumped, before turning to him.

"Huhhn?" John smiled at the small startled sound drawn from his son.

"He'll be okay," _I hope_, he added to himself. Dean nodded, sighed, and turned his attention back to watching the floor, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth.

If Sam wasn't okay, he wasn't quite sure if Dean would either.

The last time he had seen his youngest, Sam had looked horrible. He had been struggling for breath in wheezing gasps, with blood spattering through his parted lips into drops on his chin. The doctors had been holding steadily onto his side, pressing in to try and stop the bleeding, while other doctors had been situated by his head.

John had watched, horrified as they had checked and found Sam's airway closing, before tilting his head back and forcing a clear tube down his throat, before it sealed completely. A neck brace had been secured in place as they had wheeled Sam through the doors, yelling orders and stats amongst themselves.

He had pulled Dean to a chair, seeing his usually strong son, breaking as he watched his brother so hurt. As Dean had sat, John dropped into a chair beside him, rubbing his face as he thought about all that had gone down that night.

Now, three hours later, he was still thinking about it. Everything had been wrong from the get-go. He had made them split up, hoping to cover more ground that way, and despite Sam's objections to the idea. Now he wished he hadn't.

_And wasn't that how it always happened?_

Dean would have been there to protect his baby boy, and there was a good chance that Sam wouldn't be in the hospital right then, fighting for his life.

All he had been able to think about when he had gone in, had been the hunt. He hadn't been thinking about what really mattered, his family. He had only thought about the Supernatural they had been hunting, and the fastest way to finish the hunt, not the safest.

Now John wished that he had had his priorities in check, and that he had sent Dean with Sam, or that they had all gone in together.

_Well if wishes were fishes_, John thought with a rueful smile. There was nothing he could do about what had happened, all he could do was hope Sam was okay, and be more careful in the future.

If there even was a future. Without Sam they were lost. Sam was the foundation of their family, he was the glue that kept them from flying apart. Albeit, _crazy_ glue, but still the glue that held them together.

Now John just hoped that something Supernatural hadn't found a way to take out Sam.

_Please be okay, Sammy-boy. Please._

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A/N: Hey guys, I hope you liked my chapter!! (In my defense, it was written in delirium!)

So let me know what you thought, good or bad, and take care.

OSS


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys, a while since I updated huh?

Well the wait is over! (if anyone's even still here) Anywho, for those still here, I hope you enjoy this chapter… :)

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John: I'm surprised at you, Sammy. Why didn't you kill it. I thought we saw eye to eye on this--killing this demon comes first, before me, before everything.  
**Sam**: No, sir, not before everything. 

-Devils Trap

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Dr. Zachary Stevens walked into the surgical waiting room, all the while thinking about the young man he had just worked on. He had never seen wounds like the ones that had been marring the man's side. Ragged gashes, deep enough to nick an artery, and cause internal bleeding that had kept him on his toes for the past few hours.

The man had fought hard, and that was the only reason he was still breathing. The wounds and blood loss along with the air deprivation that went along with strangling, had left the young man in serious condition, and even though Zachary was the best at his job, if he hadn't been fighting, the patient wouldn't have made it through the tough surgery.

Sighing, he took a deep breath and pushed the doors open. He saw the two worn men before they saw him, and had to guess that they were his patients family. The looks were blended copies of the younger man, and the tired looks on their faces told him that they had been waiting for news for a while.

"Family of Samuel Hetfield?" He asked, looking down at the chart in his hands. When he looked up, he was surprised to find himself face to face with both the men he had been studying.

He hadn't even heard them move!

Clearing his throat he held out his hand. "My name is Dr. Stevens, and I was Samuel's attending surgeon."

His hand was grabbed in an iron, yet warm grip, and he looked up into worried eyes. "It's Sam," the muttering drew his attention to the other occupant of the room, and

disentangling his hand from the older man, he held it out to the other.

"I worked on _Sam_, then;" he said with a small smile.

"How is he?" The man asked, taking the doctor's hand in his own. The fear and worry was palpable from the young man, and Zachary gave the hand a firm squeeze before letting go, and taking a step back.

"Sam made it through surgery, and at the moment is stable and in recovery." His voice was firm and he gave the men a small smile, seeing them both relax fractionally. Just as soon as the tensing stopped though, it returned.

"Can we see him?" The older man asked, looking for all the world like a papa bear, and Zachary presumed he may just have been one.

"Right now while he's in Recovery, no;" he said, watching the men deflate with unease.

"When he's moved to a room in the ICU, you can go and sit with him, though," he added hastily, trying to amend his comment.

A smile lit the younger man's face, and he nodded. "Thanks," he said, the sheen in his eyes, telling Zachary that he meant it.

"No problem," he said with a smile. "Sam fought hard in surgery, without his strength, he wouldn't still be here," _something I'm sure he gets from you_, he added to himself.

"That Sammy, stubborn." The older man's voice was full of pride, and an inkling of annoyance, the combination making Zachary laugh.

"It's a good thing," he said, a large grin quirking his lips. "If he hadn't fought as hard as he had…" Dr. Stevens let the sentence trail, relaying the gravity of the situation. '

"Yeah," The voice was no more than a whisper, and he watched as the older man turned to the younger.

"Dean-" the man started, and Zachary could hear the concern tinted in his voice.

"M'okay, Dad" the younger, Dean, told his father, and then looked back to Zachary.

"I have another patient, but I will tell the nurse to come get you, when Sam is moved into a room." With a last nod, Zachary turned and walked out of the room, hearing the mumbled "Thanks," from behind him.

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The relief Dean felt at hearing that Sam had made it through the surgery, and was still fighting strong, was consuming. He slumped into the chair behind him and ran a shaky hand through his cropped hair.

'_I swear if you give me gray hair, Sammy boy,'_ Dean cut his thoughts off with a small smirk.

He looked over to his father, to find the man slumped beside him, a hand covering the top half of his face. The man looked worn and haggard, new lines marring the corners of his eyes, and Dean let out a deep breath, knowing Sam's injury was taking as much of a toll on his father, as it was on him.

He turned his gaze back to the wall opposite him, and settled his attention on a crack in the plaster, before letting himself relax. He felt the tension drain from his shoulders, and had to hold back a sigh of content as a knot unraveled between his shoulders. Now that he knew Sam was okay, at least for the moment, he could take a moment to let go.

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John relaxed a little in the chair, the worry a lessened a bit after hearing that his son had made it through surgery and was doing well. Looking over, he saw Dean do the same, and smiled a little as a line of pain creased into the younger man's forehead smoothed. At least one of them was feeling better.

Even though the tension had left, the guilt of the hunt was still gnawing at him. He promised to himself and his boys that he would do the safest thing from now on, not necessarily the quickest, if only to make sure his boys made it out okay.

Folding his hands together, John pressed and cracked his knuckles, trying to work out some of the tension and worry at the same time. He absently rubbed the newly cracked knuckles and looked to the door where the doctor had come through, silently wishing for the nurse to come through and tell him that they could see Sam now.

He would give anything to see his baby boy.

Anything.

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A/N: So I know it's pretty short, but all the same, I hope you liked it… And I promise, Sammy in the next chapter…

Take care and review often,

OSS


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys…: Hides behind Sam and Dean: Long time no post huh? There is absolutely no excuse… NONE! So…

I'm not gonna offer you one. I'm just going to say thanks for the reviews (keep them coming :D) and I hope you enjoy this chapter…

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_**Sam**__: You can't treat us like this.  
__**John**__: Like what?  
__**Sam**__: Like children.  
__**John**__: You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe._

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Walking from the small bathroom in the rental house they had been staying in for the past three months, John toweled his hair dry. He let out a sigh, glad to finally be rid of the grime and hospital smell he had acquired from the hunt and the long sits at Sam's side. He had left Dean at the hospital sitting with Sam, only after his son promised that when he got back, Dean would go back to the house, eat, and get cleaned up.

Convincing Dean hadn't been an easy task. _Not by a long shot._

Still John had managed to get his son to agree, feeling bad as he played what he liked to call the 'Sammy' card. Telling Dean that Sam wouldn't want him to wear himself down as he had, and that he especially wouldn't want Dean to stink up his hospital room had gotten a smile and an ascent from his oldest.

Smiling, John reached for a shirt and pulled it over his head, then snatched his keys and wallet from the table near the door and headed out to the Impala. Dean wouldn't be happy that he was back so soon, but he knew his son needed the break, even if he didn't want to admit it.

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Dean held his bedside vigil, watching over Sam as he had done all his life. One hand held his brother's lax one, and the other rested over his brother's heart, as he laid his head on Sam's arm. The lack of sleep since Sam had been hurt three days ago was taking it's toll, and while Dean was loath to admit it, he was looking forward for a chance to refresh when his father got back.

Seeing the tube jutting from Sam's mouth from day to day was tearing at him, and the stark bruising around his neck made Dean want to kill someone. _Made him want to go finish the hunt and make that ghost pay for what he had done to _his_ Sammy._ Since he couldn't do that at the moment though, he settled for a shower, clean clothes and something to fill his empty stomach.

He heard heavy footfalls outside the door and the click as the door knob turned, and reluctantly raised his head to look at his father. The man looked haggard and worn, yet the tired set that had lined his face before he left had lessened. Dean only hoped he would feel better after his own leave from his brother's bed side.

"You ready?" The question wasn't really a question at all; more of a friendly order, and Dean recognized it as such.

"Yes sir," taking a last look at Sam, Dean squeezed his hand and stood from his chair, groaning as he back cracked and protested. Running a tired hand over his face, Dean walked to the door and his father. "I'll be back soon," he told the man, reaching to take the keys from his outstretched hand.

"Dean," his father started, waiting for Dean to look at him. "You be careful, I don't want to have to worry about two sons in the hospital," Dean nodded and John released the keys, patting Dean's shoulder as he turned back to Sam and walked over to the bed.

"I will," Dean whispered, walking out the door, struggling with the pull that told him to go back to his brother, and stay there. His dad was there, and he could handle it; his mind told him, but his heart looked back to that fateful day eighteen years ago when he had been given the duty of watching out for Sam, and it tore at him to leave his brother.

_Sammy, you're making me a pansy._

With a smirk, Dean kept walking.

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John watched Sam with an almost avid fascination. He didn't know how someone so still could make him feel so much. He wasn't even doing anything and John was sure he was close to a breakdown! Scrubbing a hand over his tired face, John tried to hold back the tears as he took in the sight of his youngest son lying so pale and still.

_So quiet…_

John had never known his son to be quiet. When he had been a baby, he hadn't really cried, but gurgles and giggles had sounded in every room. When he had been a toddler, he had plagued John and Dean with questions, his curiosity of the world and all its facets evident. At seven he had been Dean's little follower, proclaiming to the world that Dean was Superman, and the greatest big brother to ever live. As a teenager, he had turned stubborn and broody, spending all his time in his room listening to his music, or having yelling matches with John.

John was used to a vocal Sam, and now that he wasn't, now that he was silent and lax, John didn't know what to do. He had learned how to deal with Sam's different moods throughout the years, but this wasn't something he knew.

This wasn't _normal._

With an almost maniacal chuckle John thought of their lives. The truth of the matter was that to the rest of the world, their lives weren't normal, weren't something that an everyday person would think of when they laid their heads down to sleep at night. What was normal to them was weird to the rest of the world and vice versa…

…And yet John couldn't come to think of his son lying unconscious in a hospital bed with a tube down his throat as _normal._

Again he laughed, but this time he kept laughing, stopping only to let soft sobs replace the disturbing sound. John couldn't remember the last time he had actually cried, the last time he had let himself feel enough to break as he was now.

Since Mary had died he hadn't let himself care enough about anything to feel as he was now, anything _but_ his boys. Now that one of them was hurt and vulnerable and in the hospital, John didn't know how to stop the emotions.

"Ah _God,_ Sammy what have I done?" The plea was cracked and desperate, something unheard of in the 'great John Winchester.' His sons thought he was invincible, and he kept up the image to the best of his ability, letting nothing get to him. But when his sons were hurt or in danger, John couldn't help but feel.

"I'm so sorry Sammy! I thought the hunt was important, it's not." The sob was louder than he expected, but John barely noticed, too caught up in trying to tell his son; however unconscious he was; that he was sorry, that he never meant for him to get hurt, that he would do anything just for him to get better.

"My priorities have been so screwed up lately, and my decisions less than smart. I thought finishing the hunt as fast as possible was what mattered, that if we could just get it over with, everything would be fine. I should have thought about safety first, about you and Dean. I swear I won't let it happen again, I swear Sam." The last part was no more than a whisper, but the meaning behind was as strong as if he had yelled it.

It took John longer than he would have liked to admit, but he got himself under control, and resorted himself to watching over his son again. Rubbing Sam's arm, and holding his hand, John resolved to comforting Sam in the only way he knew how, inadvertently comforting himself at the same time.

"Hey Sammy, did I ever tell you…" John went on to tell Sam stories about his time in the marines, and how he had met Mary. They always said that unconscious people could hear when others talked to them, and John took that advice to heart, telling his son of happier times, of things well remembered.

John was halfway through his proposal, when he heard a gurgled gasp coming from his right. Turning to look, John was met with panic stricken eyes as his youngest son tried to struggle for the tube in his throat.

John stood and grabbed Sam's flailing hand in his own, keeping a tight grip on the other, but had to drop them, and grab Sam's face as his tossed his head from side to side, trying to dislodge the tube. "Somebody help!" John yelled as the monitors screamed at him to do something, _to help his son._

Sam pulled his legs up, and inadvertently jammed his knee into John's side, the other leg pressing hard into the bed and pushing its way back to the foot of the bed. John grunted, and Sam grabbed his arms as they loosened their hold on his face.

"_Please!_" John yelled, praying that someone would come.

TBC

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A/N: Don't cha just hate those three little letters???

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Let me know!

Take care and review often,

OSS


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys!!! I wanted to thank you for staying with this story as long as you have… This is the last chapter though… I hope you enjoy, and thanks again for all the wonderful reviews yah'all have submitted!

Enjoy…

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_**John**__: Scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. Well, I guess we are stronger as a family. So, we go after this damn thing...together.  
_

_**Sam and Dean**__: Yes, sir._

_Deadman's Blood_

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John Winchester was happy. It sounded weird to use that word when describing the experienced hunter, but what he was feeling couldn't have been described any other way. Sam had woken up, and though he had been distraught at the start, he had calmed down with a little persuasion… Mainly with John screaming like a mad man for the doctors to come, "take out the damn tube before he suffocates!"

After the tube had been dislodged from his throat, Sam had seemed content to sit in the bed and sip water, as he waited for Dean to show. It had surprised John that Sam had been so calm after being so worked up, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Dean for the most part, had been frantic when he had gotten to the hospital. His little brother had woken without him, and he didn't know how Sam had reacted to that. His protective instincts had taken over, and nothing had mattered except getting to his brother.

John had watched his oldest practically fly into the room, trying to get to Sam. Though it warmed his heart to see the bond his sons held, he couldn't help but be jealous of it. Sam had immediately calmed, the remaining tension leaving his shoulders and face as he watched Dean walk through the door.

John could see the worry lines lessen around Dean's eyes, and the concerned frown leave his forehead as he looked his brother over. It had done his heart good to see both his boys feeling better. A weight had seemed to lift of the ex-marines chest, leaving him sated and tired.

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"Hey Sammy-boy, how you feeling?" Dean asked trying to end the silence that had fallen between him and Sam. His father had told him how panicky Sam had been after waking, and Dean just wanted to make sure that his brother was doing okay.

"M'okay." The answer was simple, and though Dean could tell it obviously wasn't the truth, he didn't push the subject, opting to distract his younger sibling.

"So see any nurses you like?" His smirk was genuine, seeing the look of embarrassment pass over Sam's face.

"Dean, did you know there is something called an upstairs brain?" Sam voice was curious, not a hint of humor audible.

"Bite me," Dean growled back, not sure as to whether or not Sam was joking, his brother was a very good actor.

"Ew," Sam scrunched his nose, and turned his head a little to the side, keeping his eyes on his brother the whole time. "I don't know where _that's_ been." Sam feigned disgust, drawing his hand to his chest.

"Well fine then," Dean did his best to sound indignant, not sure if it was working or not.

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"Well fine then," Sam had to hold back a laugh at the indignant tone of Dean's voice, knowing that his brother was doing his best to keep a straight face. He didn't want to ruin the moment, and instead pushed the act a little further.

"Oh don't sound so affronted, you're like a walking, talking pervert dictionary, and you know it." Well at least he was kind of telling the truth, and wasn't that what dad was all about in their family?

'_You tell the truth son, always. Family doesn't lie, no matter how much it hurts.'_ Sam's lips quirked in a grin as he thought about how the statement was coming in handy now.

"Am not," Dean whined, smacking Sam on the shoulder playfully.

The banter came to an abrupt end, as John walked in and leaned on the open door, a contemplative look on his face. "Dean," his voice was low, a distinct order in it. "I need to talk to Sam; can you give us a minute?" Dean recognized the underlying order, and stood from his chair, squeezing Sam's hand as he did so.

"I'll be back in a while," he said, looking at his father pointedly, his statement aimed at Sam.

"Un-huh," Sam dismissed him, seeing that his father really wanted to talk to him.

"Sam," his father's voice was hesitant, and Sam felt his stomach clench at the sound of his name. The man walked over and sat down in the chair Dean had vacated only seconds prior. "Sam, I'm sorry." The two simple words floored the younger hunter.

"Wha-huh?" Sam asked, fighting the urge to start spouting a Latin exorcism. "What do you mean?" He asked after a moment.

"I'm sorry I was so focused on the hunt, that I wasn't paying attention, that I let you down." Sam sat there dumbfounded, looking at his father in something akin to shock.

"You didn't-" Sam started and broke himself off before asking again, "What?"

"We shouldn't have split up during the hunt. I screwed up, and I'm sorry for that." The sincerity in his father's voice was literally eating at Sam. "I was thinking more about the hunt than your safety, and for that I'm sorry. I _promise_ you, it won't happen again." Sam's jaw dropped, and he oddly wondered if it would hit the floor.

"Dad-" Sam started, taking a good look at his father. "It _wasn't_ your fault. I wanted to kill the thing as much as you did, I was willing to go in alone." Sam tried to convince his father.

"Sam," John said, taking a deep breath, "I know you didn't want to go in alone. I made you, and I'm sorry, it won't happen again." Sam nodded, dropping his head a little to shield his eyes from his father at being caught in the lie. A rough, but gentle hand grabbed his chin, and lifted his head so his eyes met his father's dark ones.

"It won't happen again, you and Dean come first, _always_."

And just like that, Sam felt everything fall into place.

END…

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AN: So I hope you enjoyed… I thought a happy ending was in order… Now on to my next project, updating 'Twisted Night' and working on my fic for the SFTCOL(AR)S secret santa…

Take care and review often,

OSS


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